


You'll Get There

by dontshootmespence



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Blood, Body Image, Cutting, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontshootmespence/pseuds/dontshootmespence
Summary: You plodded along. Day after day. Using the little joys to push through. Until one day your secret is revealed.Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid & You
Kudos: 47





	You'll Get There

As you stared at the ceiling, your eyes felt heavy. You just woke up and all you could think of doing was going back to sleep. Being awake was too hard. Too pointless. 

But you had to work. Apparently, that was a thing you had to do to keep on living. Slipping out of bed, you plodded toward the bathroom and the unholy mirror, readying yourself to look in the mirror and hate what was staring back at you. 

You turned on the light before you walked over the threshold of your bathroom. Over the years, you outfitted your bathroom with anything and everything you could think of to make it more inviting and comforting, but it did nothing to lessen the mocking silver reflection that caught your eye the second you walked in. “Fuck off,” you said to the inanimate object, almost angry it didn’t say anything back - at least then you could fight something and get some of this hatred out of your body. 

Zoning out as you brushed your teeth, you closed your eyes and tipped your head up toward the ceiling, brushing until your mouth hurt. After spitting into the sink, you couldn’t evade your reflection and stood there staring for what seemed like hours, homing in on everything you hated about yourself. Before too long, you got disgusted with yourself and walked back to your bedroom to get changed for work.

Once you decided on some dark wash jeans (the only kind deemed appropriate by your office) that were ill-fitting to say the least, and a plain red t-shirt that probably could’ve been thrown away years ago, you got dressed, pulling your pants up to your knees before sitting down on the bed. A few quick cuts with your razor drove endorphins through your body. You hated that was the relief you found; that you couldn’t find it anywhere else, but that was your life now, so you muddled through.

The only thing you had pushing through each day was your weekly pizza nights with Spencer, who lived one floor above you, but unfortunately his job had him away from his apartment more often than in it, so you hadn’t been to his place for two weeks. Thankfully, he was going to be home tonight.

As you ambled your way down the stairs, you found yourself thinking dangerous things. What would the world be like with you gone? Would anyone miss you?

Slipping into the car, you allowed a tear to fall before drying your eyes, using your pointer fingers to wipe away the waterfall of tears awaiting release. With a deep breath, you pulled away from the curb and went to grab your morning coffee. It was things like that - the routine of your favorite coffee - that kept you going each and every day. It saddened you. But maybe it was enough for now.  
\------  
Work slogged by slower than molasses. Every minute felt like an hour. You’d forgotten breakfast, forgone lunch because you felt like you didn’t deserve and were so hopped up on caffeine by the time your shift was over that you went through one of your favorite drive-thrus and binged leaving you feel like a complete sack of shit.

Thank God Spencer was going to be home tonight. Literally, each small moment with a friend, each song that came out from your favorite artist, each move that “you just had to see” - it was all that kept you going. 

After texting Spencer to make sure you were still on for tonight, you drove home and quickly released some tension in the only way you knew. A few new ones on the opposite leg then you cut this morning. A couple on your arm. Spencer texted back to say he was on his way back to the apartment with pizza, which gave you a few more minutes with your seemingly closest friend. Shining metal pierced soft flesh a few more times, just deep enough to feel something, but not deep enough to do any real damage. When you thought of that kind of injury, your heart dropped, which was the only thing that kept you from doing it, despite how god awful you felt. 

You bandaged up the cuts and slipped into some super baggy pants and a sweatshirt, forever wanting to hide the body you hated so much. Spencer assumed you dressed that way for comfort, which is why he always joined you and wore pajamas - if he only knew the truth.  
Your timing was immaculate, both of you arriving at his door within a minute of each other. “Have a good day at work?” He asked.

“I had a day,” you laughed. “But I’m alive.” He didn’t realize what an accomplishment that was. 

Spencer jimmied the keys in the lock and swept the door open, allowing you to walk in first. “Do you mind if I grab something to drink?” You always felt the need to ask, like you were being an imposing ass if you did anything else. 

“Y/N, my place is your place. Feel free to get whatever you want. You don’t have to ask.”  
And now you felt bad for asking. 

You reached into the refrigerator and grabbed some juice, pouring a glass in the hopes that you could put off eating pizza for the time being. Binging after you left the office made you feel like you shouldn’t be eating anything for the rest of the day. 

As you reached into the cabinet and grabbed a glass, Spencer opened the pizza box and turned to grab plates, freezing in place. “Are you hurt?” He asks. You look down and see a blood drop on the floor. One of the cuts must’ve been deeper than you thought, the bandaids usually covered the evidence. 

“No, I’m fine, Spence. Don’t worry.” You hated having people worry about you. Made you feel like a burden to the world.  
Another drop fell to the floor. When you clutched your arm, he knew. “Y/N...”

“It’s nothing, Spence.”

“You’re hurting yourself. That’s not nothing.”

“I’m nothing. So it seems fitting.”

Spencer eyes blanketed with tears as he begged you to sit on the couch with him. “Please. Talk to me.”

“It doesn’t make sense. I know it doesn’t. I don’t wanna burden you.”

“You’re not. I’m asking you to talk to me,” Spencer replied. His voice was shaky and his skin was paler than usual. “Please, Y/N.”  
“I don’t know,” you started, completely unsure of where to begin. How could explain how you felt? If you knew, you could do something right? “I hate myself.” It was a simple statement, but it was at the root of everything. “I don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror. I either binge or don’t eat depending on the day. I feel like a burden to everyone around me. Honestly, it’s just little things, like having pizza with you or listening to my favorite song that keeps me from ending it all.”

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. “I can’t say that I personally understand where you are right now. At least not to the degree that you’re feeling it. But you aren’t alone. Ever. When people love you, you’re not burdening them. They’re opening themselves up to help you because they want to help. Will you let me refer you to someone? The psychologist the BAU works with, her friend has someone that specializes in your type of struggles.” He could sense the hesitance in your muscles. “Please. I know what your brain is telling you right now. That you don’t deserve kindness of any sort. But I’m telling you that’s bullshit. It’s garbage. And with time and help I think you’ll believe it.”

“I’ll do it,” you said softly, adding quickly, “for you.”

“I’ll take that.” He said quickly, relief flooding his voice. “Eventually, you’ll be doing it for you, so I’ll take what I can get now.”

Spencer stood up quickly, kissing your forehead as he ran into his bathroom. He’d never done that before. You two were friends. You wanted more, but didn’t believe yourself worthy, or that he’d return your feelings. 

When he sped back, he had bandages and some antibiotic cream, peeling your sleeve back without words to clean your wounds. “Thank you,” you said, watching a drop of water fall to the couch. You were crying. “Thank you, Spence.”

He slid his finger under your chin and tipped your head up to see the genuine concern in his eyes. “You’re welcome. It’s what you deserve. Okay?”

“Okay.”

After cleaning up your cuts, he pulled you close, allowing you to rest your head against his chest. Instead of eating and watching tv like you normally did, he just turned on some music and brushed his fingers through your hair. “I know I’m away a lot with work, but please, whenever you feel like cutting text me instead. I may not be able to get to it right away, but I will read it, and I will respond.”

Heavy with exhaustion, you nodded your reply, tears turning his light grey pajama shirt much darker. “I want to feel better. I just don’t know how.”

“It’s going to take time,” he said. “But you’ll get there.”


End file.
